


The Claiming

by clarasimone



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Courtly Love, Cunnilingus, Declarations Of Love, Erotica, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Knight, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Passionate Sex, True Love, Unrequited Love, Woman on Top, priapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone
Summary: Shortly after Jorah's return from the Battle of Yunkai, Daenerys is shocked to discover that the Maesters have sequestrated her Knight in his bedchamber, unable to treat the fever ailing him. Greyworm warns his Queen that Jorah has turned into a beast deserving of lashings, execution even. And Missandei pleads with her not to enter the room : "You mustn't see him like this." But they are talking to the Mother of Dragons, and surely she... can tame a Bear.





	The Claiming

**Author's Note:**

> This tale is set in a GoT AU and was inspired by my trauma at witnessing Daenerys act in a totally uncharacteristically cruel fashion towards her Knight upon his return, victorious, from the battle of Yunkai. I needed to explore its possible causes and ramifications beyond the obvious flaw in storytelling. I hope the release I penned is as cathartic for you, the reader, as it was for me.
> 
> As with all tales included in this collection, my undying gratitude goes to HouseoftheBear for her creative companionship. And special thanks this time must be given to @Ser-Jorah-the-Andal (Tumblr) for challenging me when, really, all I wanted at a certain point was to get back to my life. I think the end result is better for it.

THE CLAIMING

“How is Ser Jorah?”

The Khalessi has just appeared and her voice quiets everyone. No one stirs now in the lofty wing of the palace where they are nursing her Knight’s body.

***

Upon his return from the Battle of Yunkai, Jorah had developed a fever from his injuries. His suffering would have gone unnoticed if not for Greyworm’s vigilance, and Daenerys chides herself for having been so insensitive to them both, inquiring only about Daario’s wellbeing. The truth is she doesn’t quite know what got into her. There’s been something wild gnawing at her: self-doubt turning into this urge to scratch an itch that won’t go away, even if it is bad for her, especially if it is bad for her. And she felt it upon Ser Jorah’s and Greyworm’s victorious return, her two brave and worthy men. Especially her dedicated Knight, standing tall and proud, his bloodied face so adoring…. Did she feel unworthy of such devotion and love? She remembers finding herself so aloof towards him, certainly going out of her way, it seemed, to hurt him, asking for Daario.

Daario, whom she had then summoned to her apartments. And with a heart as cold as her flesh was burning, had simply proceeded to _fuck_ him, right where he stood. Daario was trying to climax when her handmaiden interrupted them to let her know of Jorah’s condition… and without a look back at the mercenary she had bedded, Daenerys had slipped into her silken robes to storm down the corridors towards her Knight’s chambers.

***

They are all looking at her now, afraid it seems to say something which will displease the Mother of Dragons. The oldest of the Maesters clears his throat finally and explains about the fever and how there is simply nothing else they can do now but wait it out. If Ser Jorah makes it through the night…

“If he makes it through the night, Maester?... _If _?” Oh, the Mother of Dragons is indeed displeased, and brushing aside the old man and his cohort, makes her way to Jorah’s bedchamber… only to be stopped in front of its closed door by the most gut-wrenching of cries. Those of an animal in agony. Daenerys starts and only Missandei’s sudden appearance at her side saves her from losing her countenance. “My Queen…”

Daenerys silently but intently locks eyes with her closest aid and when next she speaks; her voice sounds foreign to her ears. “What has happ-?...” Another groan reaches them, as does the sound of furniture being thrashed about. Seeing her Queen reach for the door, Missandei stops her, hastily speaking: “It’s the fever!” And then more calmly, in a hushed tone: “Your Grace, you mustn’t enter. You mustn’t see him like this…”

Trying to control her anger, even as the trashing continues on the other side of the thick door, Daenerys also hushes her voice, but it is strained: “Why wasn’t I alerted the second he…” Missandei doesn’t have time to give her Queen a knowing look because a voice behind them interrupts them.

“Ser Jorah did not wish it so.”

Greyworm. Quietly walking out of the shadows and bowing, his presence just adds to Daenerys’ anxiety. “Begging my queen’s forgiveness, I think, I thought it… good to obey Ser Jorah’s wishes as he… he…”

Coming to the young warrior’s rescue, Missandei explains: “When Greyworm took me to Ser Jorah, he was already raving and…” A roar reaches them, underlining Missandei’s words, “…and thrashing about, mad.”

“Like beast,” adds Greyworm, “deserving of lashing.” Daenerys is afraid to know more as guilt snakes its way into her heart. So, she turns to Missandei, to find support in her eyes, but Greyworm continues: “Saying things deserving of… of execution.” Now, Daenerys closes her eyes, shaking. When she opens them again, she sees her own anguish reflected in Missandei’s expression. The young woman knows what Ser Jorah means to her, and she knows her troubled heart.

“Let me see him,” Daenerys tells her aid.

“_LET.ME.OUT_!” Jorah’s raging voice reaches them and hearing him so clearly spurs Daenerys into action. With one swift movement, she reaches for the door and swings it open, stepping quickly inside, her silky robes billowing around her.

In the semi-darkness, the vaulted room appears to be in complete disarray, the fiery orange-red light coming from the torches and lit fireplace creating ominous shadows dancing all around. From where she is standing, next to the door, Daenerys cannot really see Jorah but his silhouette cuts a menacing figure next to his bed, where he is hunched_,_ one of his wrists tied to the bedpost. Even from the doorway, she can feel the strength emanating from his straining feverish body. Cursing under his breath, Jorah violently tugs on the leather strap restraining him.

A few hours ago, Daenerys could have been mistaken for some sort of Ice Queen but now, seeing her bear in this sorry, humiliating state, all the fire in her comes rising again and she is formidable when she turns once more to the Maester. “What is the meaning of this?” And then: “Greyworm, you are to release Ser Jorah immediately! I will not…” But her Knight’s voice cuts her short: “You…YOU!”

Inhaling hard, Daenerys lifts a hand to stop Greyworm and then turns towards the voice coming from the darkness, only to be met with a low guttural snicker and then one word: “LEAVE!”

Daenerys starts and right away feels Missandei’s arm on her own, in a protective and halting gesture. The Khaleesi is deadly calm though when, next, she turns to her friend and whispers: “Go.”

“Your Grace?…” Missandei, understandably, is taken aback and her eyes fall again on the wild beast Ser Jorah has become.

“Missandei, I am the Mother of Dragons; I believe I can tame a bear.” And to the rest of those now cowering in the next room: “Maester, you may leave your potions here but your services are no longer required. And Greyworm, accompany Missandei back and assign your most trusted men to guard the antechamber. No one is to enter these rooms…” Something crashes to the floor in the background, halting Daenerys' voice for a second, “…unless I say so. Whatever they may hear!” Alarmed, Greyworm shoots a glance to Missandei who lowers her eyes, upset. Daenerys concludes: “Now go!” Her voice softens towards Missandei, “… Ser Jorah needs me now.”

***

When they've all left and have closed the door behind them, Daenerys turns around slowly. Above the crackling of the flames, she can distinctly hear Jorah’s labored breathing. _Her Knight would never hurt her_. She repeats these words to herself, as she takes a few steps towards his silhouette. Hearing her approach, Jorah ceases his thrashing and the room gets eerily quiet. Moving closer still, Daenerys sees the amber light of the flames begin to illuminate her Knight’s figure. There are beads of sweat rolling down his skin. _What have they done? He stands there in the dark, naked,_ she guesses,_ like a caged beast… _Her heart beating faster, Daenerys takes a few more steps but a low growl stops her. She raises her arm towards her Knight, the way she would to her dragons, and whispers: “Ser Jorah, you are not well, let me… Let me help you.”

Her bear could have sprung forward in anger, the way his voice sounded earlier, but instead he backs away slightly, exhaling painfully, and so Daenerys takes a few more steps. “Let me be here for you.”

“Khaleesi, don’t.” Daenerys swallows hard. _That_ voice, that voice she recognizes and it tugs at her heart. Her Knight is truly there underneath the suffering mass of feverish muscles and glistening skin. She glides forward driving Jorah back towards the bed and its darker shadows. Yet she does get closer to him and his labored breathing once more reaches her. She so wishes she could be next to him already, calming him and, she realizes, making amends. The Maesters might tell her this fever befell him because of the battle, but she knows better. She feels it. The reason runs much deeper than that: _she_ is to blame.

“Ser Jorah…”

“Khaleesi, stop. STOP!” Which she does, just a few feet away from him, unable to penetrate the shadows hiding him. “I can smell you…”

Daenerys blinks, shocked. “I can smell you and your scent is intoxicating me.” Jorah’s voice is so thick with want, Daenerys feels a shiver run through her and her sex clenches violently, leaving her breathless. “Khaleesi, leave. _Now_.” And then softer, imploring: “Please, your Grace…” But, mesmerized, her flesh and her heart pulling her to Jorah, Daenerys does not obey. She takes another step.

One too many. There’s a painful roar and…

Jorah springs forward and grabs her wrist, his body finally emerging out of the shadows. Daenerys can barely contain her cry as she looks into her bear’s face, so feral, so… beautiful, she realizes, like his warrior's body. What a vision he composes, his stature licked by the glow of the flames, the light pooling down his broad chest and stopping at his stomach, taught and hairy... Feeling herself blush, uncharacteristically so, Daenerys quickly lifts her eyes to peer into her Knight's, their azure lost to the fever consuming him. Oh, but it is their expression that cuts through her. Jorah’s eyes, all at once pleading and devouring whole as they glide to her lips and further down towards the cleavage of her robes, which are opening up as if by his mere glance. She can hear the rumble in his chest before he speaks again, his rhythm slow and thick, as if he can taste blood in his mouth: “See what I’ve become?”…

And Daenerys does see because, never letting go of her wrist, Jorah takes a step back, making the leather strap that’s binding him to the bed creak, and, this time, the amber light of the flames licks his lower abdomen, his hips and thighs... and his priapic manhood. Daenerys is shaking now but she doesn't gasp. _How perfect he looks, and how he must suffer…_

Ashamed of her thoughts, the Queen’s breath wavers and she can hardly manage the words coming out of her mouth: “My Knight…” She looks at her wrist, caught in his grip, and then sees his hand pull it, pull _her_ towards him, in the darkness… “Jorah, please…” He’s pulling her in so slowly, she has time to feel her heart pounding in her breast. _He would never, never hurt her… _and then she can only gasp because he closes the gap between them by yanking her to him. Their bodies collide and Daenerys' free hand lands on Jorah's chest, over his heart. It’s pounding as hard as hers, and that pounding is echoing in his manhood, so erect and pressing heavily on her abdomen, making her quiver. She can feel it burning its way through the sheer silk of her robes and she sways when she finds she cannot stop herself from leaning even more into its hardness. Jorah moans, how could he not, and then he lowers his face to hers. Daenerys can feel his breath on her lips. But Jorah doesn't kiss her, he simply whispers again: "Leave."

Leave him? Abandon him to his suffering? This man, the only man who’s ever loved her selflessly, and who’s been her strength all these years? They’ve always understood each other in mysterious ways, their bodies falling in synch instinctively whenever they'd be near one another. And it's happening again, Daenerys can feel it, her breathing trailing Jorah's and making her dizzy, her skin tingling next to his... Is this the mystery that was scaring her? Is this what she was running away from by bringing Daario to her bed, instead of Jorah? She is still frightened of her own emotions as she feels her Knight's breath next to her temple, her cheek, now her mouth... So, she speaks and breaks the charm. "I cannot leave your side, sweet Ser," her whisper still regal in tone, "You are in possession of my wrist." 

Indeed, Jorah is still holding her to him, her captured hand pulled to his chest. But he lets go presently, unfurling his fingers, one at a time, never breaking eye contact with Daenerys. But also not retreating… and in so letting her feel his cock pulse against the silk covering her soft belly.

The Queen is free now but she does not move. And neither does Jorah... They just stand there, as if there is a lull in the very fabric of Time, drinking up each other's presence, waiting to see what the other will do…. Until Jorah closes his eyes and quivers, unable to sustain the contest and yet unable to move away. Seeing him like this, Daenerys' eyes well up with tears and it becomes so abundantly clear to her that she loves this man. And that there is only one way she can let him know. So she whispers on his skin, her voice so low Jorah may not even be able to hear it: _You have suffered long enough my brave Knight," _her hands very lightly moving across Jorah's strong heaving chest, "_my one and only Knight..."_, then down his abdomen, “_Shall I quench this fever?...” _

Breathing once, then twice, as Daenerys’ hands caress him, Jorah manages to speak, in agony, his cautionary whisper a velvety rumble: "Khaleesi..." But Daenerys is not heeding her Knight's supplication, she is moving to the bedpost now, to untie the leather strap binding him. Jorah looks at her, mortified, and then more so when she comes back to him and snakes her arms up around his neck. He closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring, his whole body tensing but Daenerys is unstoppable. She lifts herself up, on tiptoe, and brushes his lips with the last of her phantom whisper: "_Shall I,_ _Jorah?..._"

Next, the floor might have dropped from under her because Daenerys feels herself being lifted and crushed in the most powerful, engulfing embrace possible. Jorah is claiming her mouth, again and again, tugging and suckling, as if kissing her was akin to breathing after being underwater too long. His embrace is imperious and tender all at once, his mouth wanting to taste the mystery of Daenerys’ but not bruise the fruit of her lips… That is, until she responds in turn, her tongue meeting his and awakening the ravenous bear in him. Jorah’s hands are all over her then: holding the nape of her neck to kiss her more deeply, cupping the cheek of her rump to crush her mound to his erection, then sliding his hand inside the silk of her robe to lift her naked thigh to his hip and feel… feel the wetness of her sex lick his burning cock. A roar escapes his throat in that instant, and Jorah breaks the kiss to swivel Daenerys ‘round, pushing her back... and with a thud, he falls to his knees in front of her, his voice breaking: 

“Khaleesi, forgive me…”

Standing, Daenerys is trying to catch her breath and so holds on to the bed post, to regain some composure. She wants to plead with her Knight to stop this nonsense, to just listen to his heart, _her_ heart, and their flesh. _Come back to me_… Her fingers shake as they brush her swollen lips and, replaying Jorah’s kiss, she lowers her hand to her bosom, caressing the silk of her garment, the subtle sound making her Knight raise his head… and catch his breath.

Without a word, and peering down into Jorah’s eyes, Daenerys slowly parts the fold of her robes to free her right breast; the way she lowers the fabric catching on her erect nipple. It sends a shockwave through Jorah’s cock and makes him clench his jaw. Daenerys is panting slightly, drunk on her Knight’s arousal. Her nails trace the contour of her breast and come tease its bud once more, making her wet her lips and Jorah’s nostrils quiver. Burning now, her eyes locked to her Knight’s, Daenerys doesn’t unveil the rest of her bosom, she goes straight to her Venus’ mound, parting the folds of her robe and exposing her silver curls to her Knight’ adoring gaze. Indeed, Jorah cannot help the fervour in his voice when next he speaks: “Khaleesi, I am yours to command! Let me…”.

“Jorah…” His Khaleesi’s siren voice interrupts him and Jorah quakes when next he sees Daenerys opening her legs to show him the glistening of her pearl. His nostrils flare, the scent of his Queen’s secret honey permeating his senses once more. “Let me serve you…”

This is not the first time Daenerys sees Jorah kneeling at her feet but never has she been so taken by his passion and desire. She sees and hears him pleading. “Let me worship you…” and it sends waves of guilty pleasure up her spine. She wants to Knight him anew with her opalescence. And so slowly, deliberately, she dips her fingers down to her sex, parting the folds of her lips and exploring their secret, scooping the cream she finds there and lavishing it on her pearl, soaking her curls... _The Gods have mercy_, Jorah cannot help thinking. His Queen’s immodest caress calls to him and with just one look from her, he gracefully swoops forth, his mouth latching on to her. Daenerys closes her eyes on the sweet assault. The stubble on Jorah’s face is creating the most delicious of friction. It’s so different from the softness of his lips, she writhes to feel the two simultaneously when his tongue darts into her. Daenerys moans to Jorah’s delectation, and what riches he finds exploring her with his kiss: the intimate perfume of her, the honey coating her secret lips, so gorged with desire for him. _For him_…

And so Jorah serves his Queen. Finally. Truly. The way he should have always been permitted to… The way he’s dreamed of, night after night, chasing an elusive release his pride would deny him, until succumbing sometimes, his palm and strong fist kneading his sex into submission. But not tonight. Tonight, though still fearing this might all be a feverish dream, Jorah is feasting on the sweetest of all nectars, and his cock can throb to its heart’s content without release. He doesn’t care if he dies from it. No, he _wants_ to die from it because the only thing that matters is _she_, his Khaleesi, shattering for him.

Whimpering, Daenerys is looking at Jorah service her, and incoherent words of praise leave her lips. Her thighs start to quiver but Jorah is there to secure her body to his mouth. She can let herself go, her back leaning against the high bed, her two hands finally ripping open her silky robes to fully expose herself to Jorah’s adoring eyes. He feels her opening her legs wider for him. She needs his fingers, deep inside her, and he obeys, a deep rumble escaping him when she exposes her swollen clit more fully to his tongue, her shiny pearl slipping out of its protective hood. “Jorahhh…. Make me come !”

She wants it raw, she wants it to burn, and Jorah is only too willing to comply, his tongue giving her hard lashings and his fingers curling up inside her, making the honey there flow out, smearing his lips and beard before collecting into his palm. He can feel her hands on his head, her fingers slipping through the curls at the nape of his neck to better angle his intimate kisses to her secret lips. She’s so close now, relishing hearing Jorah’s adoring moans spurring her on. It makes her thrust her mound to him, wantonly. She looks down again, locks eyes with her Knight, and with one last cry of his name, she throws her head back, grabs the bed covers with both her extended arms and comes into his waiting mouth. How delicious the spasms of her sex; it feels like they will never end… but Jorah recognizes the signs of satiation and he eases his Khaleesi’s orgasm by more tenderly licking the last of her throbbing, and kissing her flesh so very gently… Only when he hears Daenerys let out a long sigh and her sex ceases completely to contract does he leave her be and enfolds her lower body completely into his arms.

Catching her breath, Daenerys looks down and tears well up in her eyes again, seeing her Knight on his knees, enraptured, his expression so perfectly content as he presses his profile to her soft belly. “Jorah…” _Does he hear her?_ “Ser Jorah, you may rise…” And rise he does, keeping his body so very close to her, letting his cock, even tighter than before, nest against her wet mound and her warm belly. Daenerys can’t help but purr and then sigh when one of Jorah’s arms slips inside her open robes to circle her waist gently while the other cups her face for a kiss. But it is the expression in his eyes that makes her completely melt: his eyes are clear blue again, the black fever gone and replaced by so much pride and happiness.

“I was made to serve you; do you see now?” Emotion constricting her throat, Daenerys can only nod. He lowers his forehead to hers then and she hears him whisper ardently: “Will you let me again? Tell me you will, Khaleesi…”

“You know I will,” she whispers in a quiver, taking his face into her hands. “You’ve chained me to you now,” she adds with fervour. Jorah gasps slightly, not daring to believe the love he sees in Daenerys’ eyes but, swallowing hard, he loses himself in her kisses again, his arms lifting her to him, and his body crushing her back side to the bed, his cock needing her mound and belly. Aroused once again by Jorah’s embrace, and his burning shaft, so heavy with need, Daenerys whispers hotly in his ear: “Ser Jorah, lift me unto the bed. Your Queen wants you.”

***

And so it is that Daenerys is straddling Jorah with the most amorous and yet most regal smile in her arsenal because she won’t let herself take in his erect manhood, not right away, though she wants to. A part of her relishes seeing her Knight in this gorgeous priapic state and she wants to hold off the moment of his release, taking in every velvety rumble, every tensing of his muscles and every feral look he gifts her. He is loving this, and she marvels at how his body is responding to hers, and hers to his. _How could she ever want anyone else but him?_

“Feel this, my Knight?” Daenerys is caressing Jorah by keeping him fully upright and devoted as a Knight should while, slowly, she rotates her hips languorously around his crown, making him growl softly his acquiescence. How he aches though to feel Daenerys glide all the way down his shaft to hold him tight at the very base of his cock. The vision makes him twitch… and feeling the sudden throb between her folds, Daenerys bites her bottom lip in anticipation. She accelerates her undulations, leaning on Jorah for support. Their hands are intertwined but Daenerys is keeping them away from her body, away from her hips for fear Jorah will seize her there, grabbing her, to impale her out of sheer desperate need. And she is wise to do so because the thought of her sheathing him sends shockwaves up Jorah’s spine and he must push his rump into the bed to not trust forward. The Queen sighs with contentment at this show of restraint and she bends down closer to reward her Knight with sweet whispers… but she also adds these very naughty rules: “That’s right, we have to wait, my love, we have to wait for my nectar to shimmy down. _All_ the way down,” she breathily explains. Only then will she do what he needs, and what she’ll love doing to him.

“And so, sweet Bear,” she asks Jorah, in her temptress voice, “what will you do to make this honey you so relish ooze all over your beautiful cock?” Hearing her talk like this sends another shock through Jorah and he can only grunt. Daenerys’ words are making him harder, if that is even possible, and so is the spectacle of his thick manhood between her glistening, intimate lips, with only the tip disappearing there, spearing her, spearing his Queen. The very thought almost blinds him with desire and, with a roar, Jorah raises himself to kiss the underside of Daenerys' quivering breasts. He tenderly licks and bites and sucks, and sucks some more, tugging on her erect nipples with his teeth before cooling them with his tongue. He does it slowly, wantonly, expertly. And oh, how _that_ works its magic! Soon, Daenerys moans and it is Jorah’s turn to smile. He can feel Daenerys’ nectar spilling over him. The urge to claim her just then is so great that he jerks his hips, but his motion upward is anticipated by Daenerys, who moves up with him, and so the ploy fails, and she bends down to kiss Jorah’s frustrated sigh.

“Love, you cannot cheat in this fashion!” her voice mischievous, “but you can plead. Shall you plead for me to touch myself, and to toy with your _sword _as I please?” Daenerys’ regal whispers have Jorah transfixed and leave him short of breath. His eyes fall on his Khaleesi releasing his crown to caress herself with the whole of his gorged manhood. She is riding Jorah but galloping next to his shaft, stroking it tightly with her lovely hands and pushing it up between her slick folds: “Do you like what you see, my Knight?”

Jorah can only answer with a low moan, rasping Daenerys’ name, his hips responding to her tight caress. The tip of his manhood glides between her intimate lips, picking up slivers of honey and Daenerys purrs, throwing her head back. It feels so good, being able to hold him like this, to have her hands glide up and down her lover’s thick shaft, using it like a brush, and stroking herself with it, making herself slicker by riding him in this fashion. She knows he loves it by the low rumbling sounds he makes; she can see it on the tip of his phallus, gorged with blood and pearling beads of pleasure; she can feel it in the pulsating vein running along its length; and underneath it all, she knows his semen is just dying to shoot free. That image alone makes Daenerys moan out loud.

As if he can read his Queen’s mind, Jorah clenches his teeth, his eyes on her hands caressing his hardness, its tip kissing her pearl, so drenched now, so exposed too. He feels like pleading, but he wants his Queen to take from him the pleasure she requires. He wants to see her shatter anew. Except if she continues like this, he won’t last.

Daenerys sees her Knight’s erotic agony, and she has to stop herself from taking his cock in her mouth, to quit this cruel game by making him come, right then and there, by licking and sucking him wantonly, until he reaches ecstasy. Her thoughts make her own sex throb, so she straddles her Knight once more, to let her nectar lavish out and down his shaft. Jorah gasps then, his pleas incoherent. Then, peeling his eyes away from the impossibly erotic spectacle his Queen has orchestrated, he lifts himself up to take her in his arms. He kisses her, deeply, making her moan, all the while letting her finish the game by her rules. He won’t thrust into her; he won’t, not yet! But he quivers at the feel of Daenerys’ more rapid and shallow humping. She’s accepting the whole of his tip now, and a bit more, inside her, where it’s hot and wet. They breathe quickly and they breathe as one until Jorah whispers hoarsely: “You’re so hungry, my love!”

“Yessss…,” Daenerys can only answer breathily, her sex so tempted to take the whole of him now. She could climax to the sound of Jorah’s voice. Surely, he knows this because he continues. “You’re so wet for me… I can feel you coating my cock!” She moans again for that delicious voice, her sex throbbing in tune to her lover’s words: “I want your sweet, warm, nectar all the way down to my sac… and when I feel it trickling there… I will claim you, Khaleesi." Jorah’s immodest words make Daenerys cry out and her sex clench, sending white honey down Jorah’s shaft, making his description a reality. All Daenerys hears then is a formidable growl and…

In the next instant, she finds herself underneath her Knight, his lustful eyes peering down into hers, his protective arms cradling her, and his voice, once more making her his: “There has never been and there shall never be another woman but you.” His panting, his lips, so close to hers; her Knight is dying to devour her. And Daenerys can still feel it too: their sex throbbing towards one another. “Jorah, please.” Her words have barely left her lips that she feels the whole length of her Knight ramming into her… and then stilling suddenly, both of them moaning from the feeling, cock and cunt pulsating as one, before resuming their coming together, with deep slow thrusts, their eyes locking. They can’t speak anymore. Daenerys has never known such rapture, Jorah’s manhood filling her so completely she can barely breathe. And she’s never seemed more precious to Jorah than in this instant. She in his arms, letting him possess her so.

And so, Jorah amorously ravishes his Queen, his eyes making love to her, and his cock, so thick and hard, sending shockwaves up her spine. Daenerys would whimper except for Jorah’s mouth crushing hers, his lips as ravenous as the beast spearing her.

“Faster my bear, harder…,” she manages to command. Complying, Jorah literally growls now, completely unleashed, and he takes Daenerys’ hands in his, pushing them over her head, to better kiss and bite into her neck like the great beautiful beast that he is, and to anchor himself, anchor his pounding, relishing the raw sensation and Daenerys’ cries of pleasure until she climaxes under him, her eyes locking with his. _His_ Queen and Khaleesi who, tightly, lovingly, claims his cock to make him soar with her, finally, violently, as he comes, deep, inside of her. 

***

When they can breathe again and they’ve laid in blissful stupor for a few minutes, Jorah is the first to stir. Though they are still intertwined, and their flesh is still warm, the room has gotten cold, and so Jorah pulls on the linens to cover the goddess in his bed. Daenerys seems lost to slumber, one hand gracefully folded under her chin and cheek, her hair in beautiful disarray, her cheeks rosy… and he cannot believe the gift of her in his arms. Gently, he scoops down to kiss her neck and the line of her jaw, making her coo. _So she isn’t sleeping after all_, the realization making Jorah smile. Daenerys opens her eyes then, her beautiful amethyst eyes, so full of wonder, and it makes Jorah’s heart want to burst with pride.

Whispering her Knight’s name, Daenerys raises her hand to his cheek, the way she’s done before, but the gesture seems to mean so much more now. _Though, maybe_, Jorah wonders,_ did she love me even then?_ Sighing, he kisses the interior of his Queen’s palm and then her lips in the softest, most tender of ways. Feeling her cheeks getting wet though, he breaks away, instantly alarmed, but Daenerys is quick to smile through her tears: “Jorah, will you make me a promise?”

By the Gods, she is so beautiful in that instant, Jorah can barely breathe but he whispers, fervently: “Anything, Khaleesi, you know this!” _My love_, he adds silently.

“Will you promise that you shall remain at my side? That there shall be no other there, ever?” Daenerys speaks with such intensity, and her lips on his are so hungry once more, as she questions him, that Jorah feels his amorous vigour stir anew, and he can’t help but shift in her arms to make her feel it. She needs to pause a moment, Jorah’s stirring manhood exerting the most delicious pressure inside her secret folds. He is slowly lifting her thigh over his hip and her voice is quivering as she continues: “Will you promise that you shall warm my bed every night, and hold me dear? Ohhhh…”

Never breaking eye contact with Daenerys, and drinking her every word, it’s almost as if Jorah isn’t aware that his body is moving to claim his Queen again; even as he relishes seeing her bosom heave against him, her arousal evident. And so, they continue like this: she commanding him, and he pledging himself with his body, thrusting slowly, amorously, following her words rhythmically, and inscribing them in their flesh.

“That you shall _slay_ any man who will but attempt to usurp your place?” Jorah stops and swallows hard on these words, his chest expanding, his eyes burning as he gazes down into his Queen’s face: oh! he will indeed slay any man who even dares look at her! And he lets it be known, not with words, not yet, but again with a movement of his hips, deeper, his cock almost possessive, making Daenerys moan and close her eyes. How she glows then when she adds: “_Your_ place, my Knight! In my bed and in my heart. Do you swear to guard it with your life? Because there is no other I wish to love.”

In that instant, Jorah feels such raw felicity and desire, his fingers dig deep into Daenerys hips to bring her to him, making her cry out softly, and his voice deepens from the emotion: “Khaleesi,” he whispers hoarsely, renewing his oath, “My love, I vow it shall be so!”

Cupping his face in her hands, Daenerys kisses her Knight and then, triumphant, she arches her back languorously and commands him: “Now take me, Jorah.” And so he does, in a dalliance, pure and strong in worship to the woman he loves.

******

**Author's Note:**

> \- Yes, I know, there are similitudes here with "You and no other," my first Jorleesi fanfic. I think it stems from the fact that I was at work on The Claiming when @wizfrog's challenge dropped in my Tumblr and pushed me to write a quick icebreaker.
> 
> \- Also, I believe it might be a while before I can stop including angst and raw passion in my GoT AU tales because, like Jorah, I have all this pent-up passion that needs releasing after 8 seasons worth of UST. Dams breaking are a formidable sight.
> 
> -Strangely enough, my contemporary imaginings of Jorah x Dany are much more luminous... as I hope you'll discover soon. This stems from the fact that most of them are inspired by the setting suggested by HouseoftheBear in her "Blurring the lines" serial, and in which Jorah and Dany are a happy, healthy, thirsty couple.
> 
> \- In "The Claiming", if you sense references to Blue Beard, The Beauty and the Beast or other fairy tales, know that you are not hallucinating. 
> 
> -Same thing if you think I am pushing certain known representations of Courtly Love, and the knighting of chivalrous men by their Queen*, to their glorious cunnilingus extremes. "I vow to Serve" is a beautiful erotic concept. I share this head canon with HouseoftheBear. *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Accolade_(Leighton)#/media/File:Accolade_by_Edmund_Blair_Leighton.jpg
> 
> -Though if truth be told, my very own (and unspeakable) head canon is and shall remain PriapicJorah until the day the poor man can actually bed his Queen. But since that day will never come in canon, I'm afraid I will never heal from this obsession, nor let him heal from this very condition... which I am, thankfully --let me reassure you,-- treating with some degree of poetic license, and a good grip on metaphor. Hopefully you'll think "The Claiming" illustrates this very point in a palatable fashion ;-) As did "You and no other".


End file.
